The Only Thing
by Starbuck
Summary: Post-ep, Per Manum. He had always protected her. Comforted her. Provided for her. But, with every other hope diminished, he will give the only thing he has left.


Title:The Only Thing  
Author: Emily Todd Carter  
Rating: PG to PG-13  
Classification: SRA  
Spoilers: Per Manum  
Keywords: MSR  
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't sue me.  
Summary: Post-final flashback in Per Manum. He had always protected her. Comforted her. Provided for her.   
But, with every other hope diminished, he will   
give the only thing he has left.  
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com   
  
~**~  
  
His arms could protect me.  
  
They had so many times before.  
  
His arms could comfort me.  
  
Could soothe me when words were not enough.  
  
His arms could hold me, as they were holding me   
then.  
  
Alleviate the pain. The fear. The anger. The   
regret.  
  
But as his unwavering embrace enveloped me that   
night, endeavoring to shield me from the emotions   
impending upon my heart, I received none of the   
offered solace. There was no solace to be given,  
no words to be spoken. Every flame, every fiber of   
hope left in either of our hearts had been   
quenched.   
  
As he had approached me, hastily yet with caution,   
I hadn't the strength nor the will to maintain my   
controlled façade. I had expected my sorrows to   
dissolve as he wrapped his sturdy arms around me,   
drawing me closer. He sighed, and I lay my head   
upon his chest, sensing his steady heart beating   
below the velvety wool of his sweater.   
  
How many times before had he held me this way?   
Hadn't the pain drifted away, lifted by the   
unwavering rise and fall of his chest? Hadn't the   
walls crumbled as if crushed by some omnipotent   
hand, inviting him to wash away the worry and the   
suffering? If only for that brief moment in time,   
I was invited inside from the cold of the world,   
to share the warmth of Mulder's fire.  
  
There should have been slowly forming rivers down   
my ashen face. I should have been drenching his   
chest with my tears, shamelessly revealing the   
shock and unsurpassed sadness I was experiencing   
at the realization that my only chance at bearing   
a child had failed. Mulder would have held me   
until the silent sobs subsided, silence until the   
tears were gone.  
  
But this was different. I had no desire to cry.   
One extinguishes fear, anger, sorrow, worry,   
regret, with tears.   
  
There was no description for the emotion I was   
experiencing, yet I knew it did not warrant   
weeping. It was beyond sadness or sorrow. It was a   
depression in my heart, almost tangible. It was an   
emptiness filled in every woman but me. I didn't   
cry, because crying demonstrates a fiber of hope.   
All hope I had previously possessed had been   
diminished.  
  
Instead, I began to shiver uncontrollably. It   
began with my hands, a nervous twitching that   
tingled up my arms and spread to my chest. My   
entire body trembled, despite Mulder's firm grip.   
I sensed his arms tighten around me, willing me to   
stop. My mind was racing, and my heart beat   
quickened. Objects in my apartment began to spin   
around me, and I quickly forced my eyes to shut.  
  
"Shhh," he whispered softly into my ear, his lips   
brushing the stray strands of hair lying against   
my face. "Shhh, Scully. It's okay. It's okay."  
  
I continued to quiver, my teeth chattering between   
ever-quickening breaths. Mulder drew back   
instantly, searching for my trembling hands and   
clutching them tightly in his own. His thumbs and   
forefingers gingerly massaged my shivering   
fingers, slowly advancing to my palms. His gaze   
locked with mine, and for a moment the shaking   
ceased.  
  
Then the flashes returned.  
  
--Dana, I have some unfortunate news.--  
  
--Adoption is always a possibility.--  
  
--I'm so, so sorry.--  
  
I gasped and turned away suddenly, as if to defend   
myself against the onslaught of memories from a   
doctor's office no more than two hours before.   
  
The trembling became violent.   
  
"I'm c-c-cold, Mulder," I managed, steadying   
myself as the world began to fade in and out.  
  
"Scully, you're in shock," he replied, placing a   
steady hand upon my back as he led me to the   
coach still bearing the imprint of his sleeping   
form. Knowing I lacked the strength even to stand,   
he crouched quickly and placed one arm on the back   
of my knees and another upon my back. I became   
vaguely aware of the sensation of leaving the   
ground as he lifted me onto the couch, a china   
doll poised to shatter with the slightest of   
disturbances.   
  
A blanket was laid upon me, though I barely sensed   
its presence. A silent kiss was planted upon my   
cold, moist forehead before the darkness consumed   
my consciousness.  
  
~**~  
  
I wondered why Mulder was seated beside my couch,   
his elbows resting upon his knees and his face   
smothered by his hands. Had I asked him to come?  
  
Had I fallen asleep doing paperwork with him   
again?   
  
Why was he radiating sorrow to an extent that   
surpassed the norm?  
  
"Mulder?" I queried, realizing my throat was   
hoarse and dry.   
  
His face jolted upward with the trace of a smile.   
He locked eyes with mine.  
  
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice not   
rising above a whisper.  
  
The events of the night rushed to my memory.I   
shifted my gaze to the ceiling, swallowing with   
difficulty. Mulder nodded, understanding.  
  
The blanket was tucked around my shoulders, and a   
cool cloth rested upon my forehead, dampening my   
hairline. My head lay upon a pillow, and my feet   
were elevated with three. Mulder hadn't failed in   
his treatment of my condition.  
  
The sound of running water from the sink was   
somewhat soothing. I sensed more than heard his   
crossing from the kitchen to the couch, and lifted   
myself onto my elbows to meet him. I instantly   
regretted this action, as dizziness took control   
and my head began to sway.  
  
"Whoa, there, Scully," he said, kneeling beside   
the couch to support my head with his free hand. I   
relaxed and allowed him to steady me. His   
fingertips gently massaged my skull as he brought   
the sodden towel he had retrieved to my pasty lips.  
  
Psychogenic shock: produced by excessive fear,   
joy, anger, or grief. Symptoms: anxiety, rapid   
pulse and breathing, pale, cold, moist skin, and   
vomiting.  
  
My mind, being the medical dictionary it was,   
rambled off the specifics of my condition. Mulder   
delicately laid my head back upon the pillow as he   
dabbed my lips with the towel.  
  
"Sorry, Scully," he murmured. "Can't have you   
tossing cookies on my favorite sweater."  
  
I smiled wanly in response to his quiet grin. He   
arose, cradling the towel as to prevent its   
dripping onto the carpet. I watched him as he   
padded softly to the kitchen, his shoulders   
drooping, his face expressionless. Once the towel   
had been placed in the sink, he returned to stand   
over me silently.  
  
Mulder didn't smile. His face was streaked with   
the remnants of tears, and his eyes were tired and   
bloodshot. I flinched as he leaned over me   
slightly, tucking away a strand of hair that had   
drifted into my eyes. He then sat down before the   
couch, rustling the cushions as situated himself.   
His head was faced away from me and he rested it   
upon the sofa, his arms holding his legs close to   
his chest.  
  
I closed my eyes as he began to speak.  
  
"Scully, I don't want you back at work tomorrow,"   
he whispered, his head motionless. I sighed.  
  
"Not in this condition, emotionally and   
physically." He spoke in his typical monotone,   
cool and expressionless.  
  
I made no reply, allowing him to misinterpret my   
intentions. Arguing with him would be futile, I   
realized, as his frustrating tendency to be   
overprotective had already taken control. Hadn't I   
worked during my cancer? Had he not realized that   
work was my only escape from the troubles of my   
heart?  
  
He accepted my silence as an agreement, though,   
and continued to talk.  
  
"Actually, Scully, I've thought about this for a   
while. Seeing you walk through that door, and your   
face—-God, your face—-I've seen it too many times   
before. Too much, Scully." His voice quickened,   
beginning to stammer as I had come to realize   
signified fear of the words he spoke.  
  
"Too much has been taken from you. In your   
abduction, your illness, your infertility, you've   
remained strong, hiding behind your science and   
your passion for work."  
  
My pulse was beginning to quicken once again. I   
felt beads of sweat trickling down my cheeks.  
  
"Mulder," I breathed, barely audible between my   
rapid breaths. Mulder continued to speak.  
  
"You've followed me, Scully. In my search for   
truth, you've stood beside me, letting me bring   
you wherever it led me." He paused, as if   
gathering strength to continue. His head   
resignedly fell to rest upon his knees.  
  
Chills began to traverse my spine. His words   
brought emotions I was unable to handle in my   
state, yet I knew he needed to speak them. I   
swallowed, ignoring the pain it triggered in my   
arid throat.  
  
His voice hadn't risen, yet his words began to   
ring in my ears, reverberating with significance.   
He was crying without tears, weeping through the   
revelations he was making; suppressed sorrow,   
fear of rejection and loneliness fianlly being  
brought to light.  
  
"But its gone too far, Scully." He turned to face   
me, his visage filled with immeasurable sadness.   
His gaze locked with mine, his hand reaching   
across my face to cradle my moistened cheek. His   
thumb rubbed in a circular motion. My chills   
reduced to an unexpected warmth. Calm. Silence.   
  
"I've gone too far." His repressed tears were   
shimmering in his eyes as he smiled ironically.   
His face drew closer to mine.  
  
"Mulder, don't—-"  
  
"I've been selfish, Scully. Selfish and afraid of   
having to go on alone. So, I've kept you beside me   
and watched you die. I've watched you make   
sacrifices no woman should ever have to make. I've   
taken so much from you, Scully."  
  
I silently shook my head despite his remaining   
palm, denying these claims I knew to be true. He   
continued, undaunted by my motions.  
  
"And now this."   
  
He stopped again, removing his hand from my cheek.   
His eyes drifted slowly to the floor, feathers in   
the breeze. They remained fixated upon the carpet.  
  
"Scully, it started as a simple quest for the   
truth behind my sister's abduction, and you…you   
followed me. And you've followed me since…through   
everything, Scully. Even when I didn't want you   
there, wanted you out of the danger, away from the   
lies and the pain. You've stood behind me as   
support, before me as protection, and beside as a   
friend.   
  
"You're my constant, Scully. My rock. And as   
you've stood beside me, I've seen you stripped of   
everything—-"  
  
He choked, biting back tears. A deep breath, and,  
  
"Everything, Scully, everything."  
  
His moistened gaze lifted and met my eyes. He   
swallowed and tilted his head to one side, the   
angle matching mine. His hand searched the blanket   
for my fingers, clutching them tenderly, drawing   
strength.  
  
"Everything…" His voice trailed off, his tone   
lacking closure. Yet, I knew he hadn't the will to   
continue. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, and,   
as in response, a single tear emerged and trickled   
down his cheek. I smiled and brushed it away   
delicately with my thumb, watching him   
shudder at the contact.  
  
"This is my choice, Mulder. My decision. I   
resolved years ago to remain in this position,   
here with you, here on the X-Files. With that   
choice, I accepted the possible results, however   
awful they became. However much I needed to   
sacrifice…  
  
"I never imagined it would come to this."  
  
The words were a mistake. Mulder swallowed and   
lifted his chin, his eyes darting to the ceiling.   
I turned away and sighed, searching for words to   
heal these wounds threatening to scar. He needed   
comfort, a reminder that I harbored no blame upon   
him. Mulder spoke instead.  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully."  
  
I made no reply, as none was needed. I fully   
comprehended the implications behind his words.  
  
He was sorry for my inability to bear a child of   
my own. He was sorry for his key role in my   
infertility. He was sorry for allowing me to   
accompany him in his search for the Truth, sorry   
for not forcing me to leave years ago.   
  
But, above all, he was sorry that he couldn't take   
this burden from me, couldn't share this pain with   
me, as he had so many times before.   
  
He could hold me for tonight and let me cry in his   
embrace. He could whisper reassuring words to   
assuage my fears and sorrows. He could let me melt   
into his arms and sleep away my grief.  
  
But this cup had been given to me, and it should   
not pass to him.   
  
He stood. Bending over to lift my feet, he slowly   
placed them upon the ground, providing room for   
himself on the couch. His weight depressed the   
cushions, and I slid comfortably into his   
outstretched arm draped across my shoulder. My   
head lay naturally on his chest, absorbing the   
thud of his pounding heart, the motion of his   
steady breathing.  
  
He had nothing left to give.  
  
"We'll find a way, Scully," he whispered into my   
hair, his warm breath bringing chills to my spine.   
I sank further into his chest, nestling into its   
rise and fall.   
  
His finger met my chin, nudging it upward. I   
lifted my face to meet his eyes, overflowing with   
sorrow and guilt at a degree that struck fear in   
me. The chills elevated, my face beginning to   
tremor.  
  
Without adjusting his expression, he lifted my   
head from his chest with his palm, his thumb   
massaging my temple. I tilted my cheek into his   
hand, eyes leisurely closing. I didn't flinch as   
his other hand cupped my left cheek, his fingers   
running through my hair.  
  
"I have to."  
  
I barely smiled. The tears were already falling,   
had been falling, and, for the first time in as   
long as I could remember, I didn't hasten to hide   
them or turn away. The walls had fallen, my guard   
was down, and I was giving Mulder a glimpse   
inside.  
  
But I wasn't afraid.  
  
I knew he would search for me, for a possibility   
elusive, as he had searched for so many things   
before. He'd be driven by guilt, obsession,   
vengeance, consumed by his hatred for those who   
had inflicted these things upon me. He'd follow   
them wherever they lead him, brushing aside the  
consequences, until they finally drove him mad,   
destroyed by his failure.  
  
I wanted to stop him. I wanted to grab him by the   
shoulders and scream rationalizations until he   
would understand. I wanted him to stay, to accept   
my loss and alleviate this pain.  
  
I knew I couldn't stop him, though. I knew he   
wouldn't listen, wouldn't ever stop hunting for   
his truths. With or without my consent, his   
passion for his quest was his oxygen, his   
nourishment, and he was willing to sacrifice   
everything in pursuit of it.  
  
I could see it in his eyes, the deep hazel eyes   
fixated upon mine. Behind the grief and suffering,   
a tiny flicker of passion that fueled him, rescued   
him from the bottomless crypts of his depression.   
  
I needed him to hold me. Just for tonight, and in   
the morning, the walls would be rebuilt and I   
could climb back between them, alone, cuddled in a   
corner, trying to shield myself from the rain and   
the cold. They were my haven, my safe place, my   
resort when the world had turned its back.   
  
But, tonight, I needed Mulder as my hiding place.   
My shelter from this ache that throbbed inside me,   
within the walls.   
  
We were motionless, silent, upon the couch. His   
hands still cupped my face, saddened eyes still   
locked with mine. He swallowed, the muscles of his   
throat bulging and receding.  
  
His gaze began to trace the features of my face—  
the tears, the moistened eyes, the pallid, clammy   
skin. He sensed the hurting, the anger at the   
injustice of it all, and the downright terror I   
felt of the boundary he was rapidly approaching.  
  
I couldn't feel my heartbeat, though I knew it was   
rising. I couldn't feel myself breathing, though   
my chest rose and fell. I couldn't feel my   
fingers, my toes, and, slowly, my arms and legs,   
until the sensation consumed my entire body,   
rendering me unable to move. Unable to turn away   
as I should have, could have, would have, had my   
fences been strong. But they were down, my   
barricades, and the gate was open.  
  
He gently drew my face closer, inches away, and   
tilted my head slightly to the side. His breathing   
was silent—mine highly audible. And, here he   
remained, staring soundlessly into my eyes, the   
unspoken communication, perfected through the   
years of our relationship, the only dialogue.   
  
--I know it hurts.--  
  
--I know I've hurt you before.--  
  
--I've nothing left to give you, Scully.--  
  
--Let me share this burden.--  
  
--Let me take it all away.--  
  
I closed my eyes.  
  
--Don't hurt me, Mulder.—  
  
His breath was warm, soft, as he lingered.  
  
One breath. One moment.  
  
I trembled with the touch of his lips to mine,   
soft, barely touching. He lightly stroked my   
temples with his thumbs, while slightly pressing   
harder into me, seeking permission.  
  
I ignored the heat flowing to my face, the nagging   
hesitation in the back of my mind, the silent   
alarm sounding within me, commanding me to pull   
away.  
  
--Don't ruin this, Dana. Not this. He's all you   
have left.--  
  
Mulder advanced, parting his lips tenderly and   
closing them again.  
  
My mind raced, indecisive, terrified.   
  
--No, no, no, no, no.--  
  
He continued to gently press deeper, opening and   
closing his mouth around mine, inviting my   
response.  
  
I needed this comfort, needed this touch. I needed   
him. Traversing this boundary, crossing this line,   
couldn't take him from me. It wouldn't separate   
us, wouldn't change things, wouldn't destroy the   
friendship we had struggled so relentlessly to   
establish.  
  
Would it?  
  
Because I couldn't bear the silence, the   
awkwardness. The momentary locking of eyes with a   
quick withdrawal, unsure. Things would be   
different, our relationship transformed. I'd be   
vulnerable, susceptible, weakened.  
  
--You'd die for Mulder, but you won't let yourself   
love him.--  
  
He sensed my reluctance and drew his lips from   
mine, pausing a moment to stare into my eyes,   
asking for answers I couldn't give.  
  
He sighed and slowly pulled my cheek into his   
chest. I stared blankly forward, the silence   
deafening.   
  
I wanted to explain, but I wasn't sure I could. He   
would understand, Mulder would understand.   
  
But would he accept?  
  
I felt his breath move unhurriedly down my face,   
his mouth lingering above my ear, lips brushing my   
hair. The chills were unbearable, my face   
trembling. As breathed into my ear, his voice   
barely above a whisper, his lips brushed my skin.  
  
"Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight."  
  
--Stop, Mulder. Please, don't do this.--  
  
His lips traveled below my ear, warm breathing   
tracing the tiny hairs of my neck. His eyes were   
closed, ignoring my trepidation, taking no notice   
of my shivering body, the goose bumps pervading my   
skin. I breathed heavily, unable to fight back.  
  
He delicately kissed the base of my neck, below   
the collar of my blouse. He paused a moment, his   
lips unmoving, before tracing his path up to my   
ear with tiny kisses, barely touching my skin.   
  
My head still lay upon his chest, my eyes   
unwilling to open. As he reached my ear, his   
coarse stubble grazed my cheek.   
  
He stopped, waiting for my protest, expecting my   
rationalization. And I was prepared to speak, to   
tell him that I couldn't go through with this,   
that I couldn't ruin everything like this.  
  
He'd understand, wouldn't he?   
  
He'd accept my denial. He'd walk away and we'd   
never speak of this again.  
  
But the pain would remain. The knowledge that   
there was something he could have done, one more   
chance he could have given me at having the thing   
I wanted, deserved, above all else.  
  
His fingers brushed my blouse as they slowly   
traced the first button. Circling, pleading,   
careful.  
  
Silent.  
  
He cautiously unfastened the button, smoothing the   
cloth between his fingers.  
  
I heard only dullness, buzzing, a murmur. I sank   
deeper into his chest.  
  
He continued to the next button, my breathing   
growing hushed. His fingers were gentle, his   
movements fragile and measured.  
  
--Like a flick has been flicked somewhere.--  
  
He continued down the blouse.  
  
--I never saw you as a mother before.--  
  
The next button.  
  
--Agent Scully is already in love.--  
  
He tenderly descended.  
  
--There's something I haven't told you.--  
  
Pulling away the last button, he slipped his palm   
upon my bare shoulder, sliding it down my arm to   
peel away the blouse. I sighed quietly.  
  
--Let me hold you, Scully. Just for tonight.--  
  
FINIS 


End file.
